Baby Talk
by MGMK
Summary: To say that everyone is surprised would be an understatement.


**Disclaimer:** Don't own. Just borrowing.

**Author's Note:** I've nothing good to say about being absent so long. Nothing. I only apologize for it. But, I should have some new FFTs out later this week. Definitely before Glee starts back up again. There's a poll on my profile page that I'd like you guys to participate in if you'd please. Again, I'm sorry and GO BEARS! That is all.

* * *

><p>To say that everyone is surprised would be an understatement.<p>

Rachel swears. "What the fuck?"

Tina's eyes actually widen. Did _not_ think that was possible.

And Puck, well Puck is his usual dickhead self.

"How the hell are you gonna swing that Lopez? I always knew you had balls but I didn't think they actually worked."

"Shut it you wannabe Slater-reject," Santana fires back, instantly on the defensive. "I don't see what the big deal is."

"The big deal," Quinn starts pointedly, "is you two are the last people we would've picked to be the first of us to procreate. Well, intentionally procreate. My money was always on Finn and Rachel."

"Whoa," Rachel objects. "Why us?"

"Because you go at it like rabbits and Finn has the load-control of a 13 year-old boy," Puck answers with a smirk.

"Well, suck it. Brittz and I _are_ having a baby so nine months from now when I pop a wailing kid out I want all of you-"

"Wait," Mercedes interrupts, holding up a hand. "_You__'__re_ gonna carry?"

And here we go again.

**-C-N-N-**

"Donor # 20452 likes long walks, cooking and…ew, jazzercise. Pass."

Santana tosses yet another donor packet onto the floor.

Why are all the good-looking guys so gay? Not that she had anything against gay guys – I mean, hello; isn't that like Snoop Dogg starring in a say no to drugs commercial? – but a super lesbian and a mega-gay reproducing would most definitely yield a litter of snarky, bitchy, spectacularly-dressed children that flame so bright they can be seen from Mars.

Or severely backfire and produce the Hitler for homosexuals or something.

Genetics be tricky like that, yo.

"You know babe," Brittany says, looking up from her second draft of what was supposed to be the town's new recreation center. "Blaine and Kurt both offered to be donors."

"Yeah and so did Puck," Santana says distractedly, still sifting through pages. "The old-fashioned way, too. I told him that if he comes anywhere near me he and his 'little friend' will no longer be acquaintances."

Brittany puts her sketch away, slipping her drawing table onto the floor before removing the stack of pamphlets from Santana's lap and crawling onto it.

"I was looking at those," Santana smirks, her hands already happily gripping tightly onto Brittany's hips instead.

"Exactly," Brittany says gently, smiling. "Looking. Not deciding and you really need to do that already." She presses a hand against Santana's stomach, biting her lip. "I can't wait to get you knocked up."

"It's hard," Santana deflects, not quite meeting Brittany's eyes.

"Not really. Every one of these guys have been tested, profiled, background-checked and everything, and personally, the less we know about him, the better," Brittany says, brushing Santana's hair out of her eyes. "Now, tell me the real reason you're taking so long."

"All the guys you picked out…" Santana starts, a little unsure of herself, "…they look like me."

"Really?"

Santana nods.

"Huh," Brittany breathes, sounding more intrigued than perturbed. She shrugs. "I didn't really notice to be honest." She grins cheekily, poking Santana's cheek. "Guess that means I've got a type, huh?"

"Wait, you don't mind?" Santana asks, catching Brittany's hand.

"Why would I mind that they look like you? You're gorgeous."

Santana can't not smile at that so she does, even as she rolls her eyes a little. "You know what I mean, Britt. I mean, they don't look like you."

"So?"

"So, don't you want our kid to look just a little bit like you?"

"San," Brittany giggles, cupping the other woman's face in her hands. "Our baby could come out green with orange eyes and…and, and purple hair…that would be awesome by the way. Maybe I should dye my hair-"

"Britt," Santana interrupts, looking adoringly at her wife.

"Oh right. My point is I don't care what or who our baby looks like because I'm still gonna love him or her all the same."

"So if our baby comes out blue…" Santana trails off, laughing at Brittany's excited gasp.

"That would be so awesome. He could be a smurf for Halloween or…an Avatar creature or we could start a blue _baby_group or…"

Santana doesn't have the heart to stop her.

**-C-N-N-**

"Does it feel weird?"

Santana looks away from the television and over and then down to where Brittany is watching her stomach with interest.

"You've felt it," she muses. "Did it feel weird to you?"

Brittany shakes her head, staring so intently her eyes are starting to cross. "It felt like you had a peanut in your tummy."

She runs her hand over the spot again, marveling over the hardly noticeable raise. "You can't even see it."

Santana smirks, turning off the television and setting the remote on the nightstand. "Are you freaking out?"

"Not…freaking. This just…makes it more real, you know? We're actually honest to buttons doing this."

"We are," Santana says before adding playfully, "Well I am. You're just kinda around for the ride."

Brittany looks up at her, catching Santana's eye. "We are doing it," she says, pressing a lingering kiss to her wife's stomach before lifting a leg over prone hips, straddling Santana with little effort. "And I'm going to be there through every doctor's appointment, every craving, every mood swing, every…everything."

Santana smiles as Brittany's warm hands slide under her bunched up tank top, nimble fingers slipping under her bra. "Are you trying to top me?"

Brittany grins, nodding as she winks. "Always."

"And when I'm too big to fit out the front door and my feet swell to be Bozo-sized?"

"Don't your boobs and butt get bigger too?"

Santana nods, laughing as Brittany leans down to swiftly kiss her lips. "Pregnancy is _so_ made of win."

**-C-N-N-**

"Hi," Rachel greets when Brittany opens the door just a smidge, looking frazzled. "Finn and I were just in the neighborhood-"

"We're always in the neighborhood, Rachel," Finn says. "We live right up the street."

Rachel ignores him. "And I thought we'd drop by and-"

"Now's not really a good time, Rachel," she informs her cryptically, looking back into the house.

"It's always a good time to visit friends," Rachel insists, side-stepping Brittany and forcing her way inside. "Now, where's Santa-"

"BLEGH!"

Rachel shudders, frozen in place as the warm, horribly-smelling upchuck drips off the side of her face and down onto her sweater.

Santana wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. "Hey Rachel," she manages weakly before another wave of nausea doubles her over and forces the remaining contents of her stomach out…onto Rachel's shoes.

It's Rachel's shortest visit ever.

**-C-N-N-**

"Oh my God, Artie."

Brittany rushes over to him where he's lying face down on the floor, helping him prop himself up against the back of their couch.

She's only been gone maybe ten minutes at the most – Santana _really_ wanted a mango-pineapple smoothie – and clearly that was enough time for Artie and Tina to wear out their welcome.

"What are you doing out of your chair?"

Artie's chin trembles. "She took it."

Brittany's eyes widen in disbelief. "She did not."

"She did so," Artie insists, straightening out his frames. "She just tipped me out of it and took it."

Brittany looks around at the vacant living room. "Where's Tina?"

"She left five minutes ago," he tells her. "She was going to get my chair back."

"Oh Lord," Brittany murmurs, pushing herself to her feet in an instant. She rushes to their bedroom and sure enough there's Artie's wheelchair.

And there also is her pregnant wife, holding a nearly-sobbing Tina captive via headlock.

"Say it," Santana grinds out from between clenched teeth, flexing her biceps as she squeezes.

"Okay. You can totally still kick my ass even though you're pregnant," Tina rushes to say.

"_And_?"

"And you're still the reigning hottest member of Glee club."

"Damn right I am."

"San-Tan-A."

Santana instantly looks up and spots the totally ticked Brittany before shoving Tina away from her, pointing. "She started it."

Brittany advances, hands on her hips. "And what did she do exactly?"

"She wanted to touch my baby bump."

"And Artie?"

"His chair was squeaking."

Brittany sighs, shaking her head and trying _very_ hard to keep the smile off of her face. She cannot go encouraging this behavior. "_San_."

"Well it _was_."

"I'm sorry Tina," Brittany says to her friend, gesturing for her to retrieve the wheelchair.

"What are you apologizing to her for? You're the one who slept with him."

Brittany's jaw drops. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Santana mumbles, her nose turning red in that tell-tale way that means she's about to start crying. "And you kept sleeping with him too even though you knew it was killing me."

She's full-on sobbing now, complete with a runny nose and shaking shoulders. Brittany closes the few feet of distance between them, completely flabbergasted as she pulls Santana into her arms, simultaneously brushing her fingers through long, dark locks while her other hand still clutches onto the smoothie.

"San, that was so long ago," she says, hoping to heaven that the other woman isn't really stuck on something from _high__school_. "You can't be serious."

"I just didn't like that-" Santana stops mid-sentence, mid-sniffle. "Is that my smoothie?"

Brittany blinks. "What?"

Santana reaches around her and snatches the plastic cup, downing a quarter of the concoction with one gulp. "Thank you, Britt-Britt," she says, eyes entirely devoid of tears. "I love you."

She flounces out of the bedroom – drink in hand and a smile on her face – leaving Brittany literally scratching her head.

Mood swings, indeed.

**-C-N-N-**

"Our baby's not a dinner tray," Brittany playfully reproaches, taking the plate of banana slices topped with mayo and putting it onto her own lap as she settles in next to – wait, WHAT?

"Are you actually eating this?" Brittany asks, giving the food a cautious whiff.

Santana grins at Brittany's wrinkled up nose. "It's good. Try it."

Brittany sniffs at it again before turning away, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "I think I'll pass."

She faces Santana again, leaning across to let her right hand rest against a swollen belly. "So, how are you feeling?"

"Let's see. My feet hurt, my back hurts, and I think Junior or Juniorette is practicing for future soccer try-outs against my bladder. It's either that or they're using it as a punching bag."

"I wish I could feel it," Brittany comments, moving her hand all around and hoping against hope for the faintest flutter of movement.

"Uh, no you don't. Although, go drink a gallon of water and then let me tickle you. You'll get the same results," Santana kids, resting her cup on her belly for just a second before Brittany takes it away too, with a smile.

"I didn't mean that."

"I know," Santana says, resting a hand atop Brittany's. "Soon enough, though."

"Yeah," Brittany whispers, signaling for Santana to lie back, placing the "food" and –is Santana drinking a glass of pickle juice? – drink onto the coffee table before lifting her wife's feet into her lap. "In the meantime, how about a foot rub?"

**-C-N-N-**

Brittany shifts just a little, curling into Santana's warmth since her wife is hogging all the covers…again.

She arches her back dramatically as she moves back because, even five-months pregnant and with a perfectly round belly preventing her from effectively doing so, Santana still insists on being the big spoon.

She manages to find a comfortable spot when Santana nudges her in the back suddenly.

"What San?" Brittany sleepily asks, not quite opening her eyes. When all she receives is deep, even breathing in response, she settles back in, slipping into unconsciousness easily.

But then Santana nudges her again and her eyes blink open slowly…

Santana's one arm is wrapped around her waist and the other, she knows from experience, is tapped under the pillow so…how is it possible that Santana is nudging her?

Brittany feels the pressure against her back again and lets out a tiny squeal, her eyes instantly tearing up.

It's her baby – their baby, keeping her awake.

The next day Brittany's never been so elated to be tired at work.

**-C-N-N-**

Santana opens the smartly decorated gift box, frowning when she sees its contents.

"I thought we stipulated gender-neutral colors, Britt."

"Yellow is considered to be a gender-neutral color, Santana," Kurt informs her, smiling politely.

"I think it's cute." Brittany comments, holding up the tiny yellow romper.

She adds it to the piles and piles of swag they've gotten.

The first baby born to the adult Glee-clubbers is going to be ridiculously spoiled; especially if Puck has anything to do with it.

"So like, I know you still hate me for letting Lauren toss you around like a rag doll back in high school or whatever. But I don't really care because you got me back by telling Tracey Rosemont I had _aids_."

"Masturbatory aids," Santana defends herself, preempting the glares not being thrown her way. "It's not my fault bitch didn't know what a homophone was. Or a dictionary. Or Google."

"Anyway, in spite of our history, I still like Brittany and the kid's half hers so…"

Puck gets up and goes to the door, dragging behind him a pink Barbie power wheel – Kurt gasps, "I've always wanted one of those" – and a little red corvette. "I got both since we don't know what you're having yet but I'm keeping the receipt because one of these is going back."

"Thank you," Brittany tells him, giving him a hug and Puck looks down at Santana expectantly.

"What?" she snaps. "I still hate you, just, maybe not as much right now."

"I'll take it."

**-C-N-N-**

"Tell me the truth, Q. How much did it hurt?"

"Remember that time Coach waited until all of our cycles synced up and made us jog up Harding Hill after feeding us those laxative brownies?"

"Yeah," Santana says, remembering. "Why on earth did she do that and how the hell was she never reported?"

"I don't know," Quinn shrugs. "But it feels like that times 1,000."

"Shit."

**-C-N-N-**

Brittany eyes him cautiously. "Tell me the truth, Puck. How much did it hurt?"

"Well, have you ever been kicked in the 'nads?"

"No."

"Well, it's like that," Puck responds, holding up his pinky and wriggling it. "Still can't feel the tip of this thing."

**-C-N-N-**

"Okay, Mrs. Pierce. We're going to need one more push from you."

"I can't," Santana cries, voice hoarse as she falls back against the stack of pillows. "I can't do it Britt. I'm sorry."

Brittany ignores her (several) possibly broken fingers and squeezes Santana's hand, leaning down next to her ear. "I know that you're tired and you're hurting and I promise that as soon as whoever's in there gets out here you and I can take turns beating up the doctor, 'kay? But first things first, baby. One more push. You can do it. And I'm right here with you." She kisses Santana's sweaty brow, still holding on tight to her hand. "I love you and you're so amazing and hot right now and that 'no sex' rule already sucks."

Santana smiles slightly, not even having enough spare energy to laugh. "Okay," she breathes, sitting up again. "Let's do this."

Brittany holds on tight, using every ounce of restraint she has to hold her yell in when she swears Santana draws blood, but all of that goes out the window when this warm, tiny thing is suddenly being cradled in the doctor's hands.

There's some surgical scissors placed in her free hand and she cuts the umbilical cord dreamily, eyes welling up.

"Brittany," Santana whispers, completely exhausted. "Brittany, what is it? Is it okay?"

Brittany grins, hearing their baby cry for the first time as they clean her up. "She's perfect."


End file.
